xXbleedingstars

"Unless" and "until" are the beginnings of dead ends, caveats of how to cross chasms if you would choose the path that matters Even if you're filling my heart with cherry pie kisses and helium dreams, I close a stone in my fist. I have no room for an ex girlfriend's selfishness, no, I barely have room enough for my own. If all goes to pieces as it seems it'll go, I can't betray myself and say, "I should've known." Does the future have room for the past? Even if that's the way to reach you, I won't take another step back.

Over sea and sky we trade eyefuls that our sights cannot reach. Clinking piles of curled shells that whisper their echoes, to hear a child's pointed protest of an unfair play; a family-friendly dog panting; voices singing and hands clapping to 'Happy Birthday'. These photos that fit into his hands reaching out hold mine. He gives me a memory, a seed to grow in my head in delicate upward steps, into climbing ivy tendrils of wonder. I show him the silhouettes of clouds-- blown from my first birthday candle, that he, in turn, shows to me --edges of balloons. White borders, the pith of glistening pools of time can't dam

That time of year in you I do behold When sev'ral leaves clutching gold do brag Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Chuckling, shook off the birds that used to nag. In you I see the twilight of such day, As after sunset's light in colours blow Across the sky, that clouds won't mute but display, And night will too, in the warm counterglow. In you I see the blazing of such fire Not holding breath to stretch, (that thins), the wick In now a pool, which once held you higher, But prison shed, your last flash tastes air whip-quick. This I see, you are free to live a life strong For it may leave, but Love, love lingers lo

Hoping to See Spring (Thoughts that Blossomed from Seeing the Tree in Bailey Elizabeth's "11 3") "the leaves are leaving and now the bark is peeling and"* despite the cancer treatment,         a knot is still snarled   in the        heart       of my apple flesh like dead wood. *quote from Bailey Elizabeth's "11 3"

The tear, tentative venturing rivulet, paws down in silken steps-- the gliding predator stalks my skin steadily until it leaps off the end of my chin with its warm breath that turns away.

ballooning bloat of confidence rolling off your soul wedged in rows of rolls and rolls... and rolls the fluidity of faith against supplewaves of muscle and a heart ricoheting through your throat and back down the glass. see sawing up down blue sky gravel ground-- come here.

It is too early and the tea has burned my tongue, extinguishing all taste of you. The moment before colour suspends on a breeze at the curtain and I imagine you dream of me. But it is morning already and I know the sharpness of day will have erased all softness from your arms, you will be once more all angles for me to bruise myself on. You will wake with a sigh, with wanting and need, with no pleasure tugging at lips. I will melt into the day to avoid your frowns and hurried steps, too cowardly in the bright of day to slow you with a kiss, a smile. I know all this before you stir to break the silence of morning tea.

tell me about continents and oceans and i'll tell you about highways and planes.            continents -            fall apart            you say,            oceans -            destroy them and i say: but look, that isn't an ending, that's just change.            pangea was            beautiful,            it didn't            need to change. and i say: we all need to change, even beauty must adapt. and i say: i adapted, pangea adapted, why can't you?            all that distance,            you say,            all those miles.            there is an ocean            between us. and i say: highway

     When you are young, they will treat you with the softness of spring. They will guide you through the winter winds and over snowy hills, admiring the brilliance of your midday innocence; pulling daisies from the earth just to place them in your hair. And they will whisper to each other of how beautiful you are.     When you grow older, they will treat you with the indifferences of autumn. They will urge you from the complacency of your own fleeting fulfillments, and they will watch your brilliance fade with the swiftness of the sky. You will shed your fragile childhood with the colors of the trees, and you will learn to face

it implodes on the walls of your skull and slides, sickly off your tongue like the body of a slug. when it hits the floor it is not quiet, not heavy nor dull but sharp as a slap and totters out of the room suddenly, they are disgusting and you are ill. there is no more room for regret, washed away by the slime coming out of your pores. the fault is yours

I taught U luvd me Now I am sad AND bleeding Sakura blossom

I wait in a womb of Chinese silk, thoughtfully tucked away from other ornaments, in a dark where I wait for her more than she waits for me. Once, I grew on the soft pallet of a sea of tongues. Once, I knew the covenant of salt, was built to protect, to grow hard against assailant. Was it your greed which stole me from safe mouths? Or hunger? Now, I'm your adornment. Your adored. When I dull, you take me from your soft skin and acid, and worry your oils from me. I have my own rag. My own care. When I lie in the dark, I cannot even click my spine of nacre. I make no noise, cannot rustle my truths: